Unbroken: Song of Sorrow
by MasamuneZERO
Summary: Prior to exacting her revenge on the last Comstock, Elizabeth acted as Sander Cohen's apprentice, recording a song aired throughout Rapture. But for whom did she truly sing for? Originally a one-shot set before Burial at Sea and linked to Unbroken, it's become a prequel, showing the wounds still unhealed and their bond. Cover Image by Shaidis on Deviantart, used with permission.
1. Her Song

Her Song

November, 1958

"No, no, no, no!"

A sigh escapes Elizabeth as Cohen screams for the tenth time, stepping away from the microphone as her horrible 'mentor' stormed up to her. In this studio, cut off by soundproofed walls with but a single solid wood door and window looking out into the ocean, she had spent the better part of the last two weeks trying to record Sander Cohen's new song.

"Dear Elizabeth," Cohen, his voice softer now, steps onto the raised mahogany platform in the center of the studio, "my little songbird, why can't you understand? I do not want you singing some sickeningly sweet love song, emotionless drivel or pedestrian sadness. I want to hear agony and beauty, heart wracking sorrow in each and every note." He reaches for her, brushing her dyed-black hair.

Elizabeth nods politely, but inwardly she recoils, Cohen's touch sending a wave of revulsion through her very being. She only puts up with him to get a line on his trafficking operation, each day she spent as his apprentice revealing new depths to the man's depravity. She still doesn't know what he's done with the children, but she can't imagine anything good came of it.

"Now then, from the top! Remember, little songbird, I want sorrow, longing, heartache! Not despair, and certainly not happiness or joy!"

As Cohen steps away, Elizabeth turns her attention to the other two in the studio: another pair of Cohen's disciples, one tuning a violin while the other strings a worn-looking guitar. "If Cohen gives up on me, I'll never find out where Sally is…" The thought draws another sigh from her, Elizabeth genuinely considering just giving up and killing Comstock without making him remember.

"Comstock…" A flash of anger surges through her; Comstock had taken Booker's name, his appearance, even his occupation in an effort to escape his guilt over what happened to Anna. Booker, her father, the only true friend she had ever known. The father she lost before she even got a chance to truly know him.

"Booker…" The name parts her lips as a whisper, the rest of the studio's occupants turning to her. A smile touches her lips as an idea forms, "If Cohen wants sorrow, then I'll give it to him." Turning again to the guitar-playing disciple, Elizabeth imagines Booker playing the instrument, as he did in her memories. Her thoughts remain on Booker DeWitt as she steps back to the microphone.

"Have you found your muse, my little songbird?" Cohen, partially hidden in the shadows, leans against the studio wall across the microphone from her. A stomach turning smile appears as she nods.

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth pictures Booker, remembering their first meeting. A smile tugs at her lips, but she keeps her expression neutral. No need to aggravate Cohen further.

Her mind drifts to when Songbird caught up to them, hurling Booker into a building, raising its clawed hand to end him. She feels her jaw tense as she remembers pleading with Songbird to spare him, to take her 'home'.

_"See the Pyramids alooong the Nile…_

_ Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle. _

_ Just remember, darling all the while…_

_ You belong… to me…"_

She fights to keep a tremor from her voice, her lower lip quivering as she remembers the anguish in Booker's face, her own heart breaking as tears flow down her cheeks. They reached for one another, but she was pulled away just before their hands met. She heard him call after her, his voice filled with panic.

_"See the marketplace in ooold Algiers…_

_ Send me photographs and sooouvenirs._

_ Just remember, when a dream aaappears…_

_ You belong to me…"_

Elizabeth swallows back a sob between verses, singing the chorus in the same breath. She thinks back to the torture, to being told Booker had abandoned her. She didn't believe it, but she feared that it might be true, or that something worse befell him.

_"Fly the ocean in a silllver plane…_

_ See the jungle when it's wet, with rain._

_ Just remember, till you're hooome aaagain,_

_ You belong, to me…"_

She almost gives up, not wanting to remember the end, but something drives her on. She remembers the doors, revealing the truth to Booker. She remembers him allowing her and the other Elizabeths to drown him, to stop Comstock from ever having her.

_"I'll be so alone… without you…_

_ Maybe… you'll be lonesome toooo… and blue…"_

Her voice sticks in her throat as she fights back another sob, a tear rolling down her cheek. She was all alone. She'd peer through the doors to watch the Bookers and Annas, wanting desperately to go home, to be with her father. But there was no place for her; none of the Bookers would remember her. None of them could. Their time together never happened, except in her memory.

_"Fly the ocean in a silllver plane…_

_ See the jungle when it's wet, with rain._

_ Just remember… till you're hooome aaagaaain…_

_ You belong… to meee…"_

As the final note fades away, Elizabeth drops to her knees on the wooden platform, sobbing into her hands. She doesn't care whose watching, doesn't care that what happened was necessary, doesn't even care about her omniscience. She misses her father, and damn anything else.

"My dear, sweet Elizabeth…" She hears Cohen's footfalls, each closer than the last. "Why do you cry? That was perfect, a masterful performance."

For some reason, she has to tell someone, anyone, who that song was for. Cohen would do just as well as one of his disciples. Her sobbing slowly fades as she picks herself up.

"I sang your song for my father, Cohen." Still sniffling, Elizabeth stares defiantly back at the 'maestro', "Not for you. My father protected me even when he didn't know who I was."

Tears threaten to spill again, Elizabeth blinking them away, "He gave up everything to keep me safe, even his life. Now he's gone, and I'll never see him again. Never be able to thank him, never be able to tell him I love him."

She doesn't care anymore. She knows Cohen thinks all music and art revolves around him, that his ego could very well take offense. If he throws her out, she'll go without complaint. Elizabeth wipes the tears away as Cohen stares back at her, his expression inscrutable.

"Then I should thank your father." His response catches her by surprise, "For giving you such sorrow. Without him, I suspect you'd never have sung so beautifully, my little songbird, and for that you should be thankful."

Anger courses through her as Cohen and his disciples leave, his exultations at another masterpiece fading as he disappears out the door, Elizabeth now alone in the empty recording studio.

Throwing the microphone across the room, Elizabeth steps to the glass window, staring out into the ocean as tears roll down her cheeks again. Slowly, she raises her right hand, the silver thimble on her pinky shining in the light as she presses her palm against the glass.

"Booker…"

* * *

September, 1894

Booker sat hunched over his desk, filling out paperwork. His last job ended messy, and now he had to fill out a mountain of forms dumped on him by the police.

"Why'd that fool have to run?" Grumbling, Booker pushes himself away from the desk, stretching as he strolls about the office. "At least the visions aren't so bad today."

"Wait… what's…?" Stopping in his tracks, Booker turns his gaze to the window, something drawing him closer. Something familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises his left hand to the glass, the sensation guiding it to a particular pane. Booker thought he could hear something, a voice, words maybe. The glass feels warm under his palm, a warmth he thinks he knows.

And then it hits, like a bolt from the blue; Booker feels a surge of sorrow and heartache from nowhere, like the day he lost his wife. Pain and anguish, loneliness and grief, so fierce he didn't know how he'd go on, or what he should do. But that was also the day he held his daughter in his arms for the very first time, joy mingling with the sorrow, giving him something to hold onto. This time, there's nothing, not even a sliver of something joyous or at least comforting to hold onto.

And as suddenly as it appeared, the warmth beneath his hand and the sorrow vanishes, leaving only a voice Booker isn't sure he really heard. A voice he's heard in the visions.

"… I miss you…"

* * *

**Author's Note: Hi everyone, I just wanted to say that piece was originally just going to be a one-shot to add some depth to a section of Unbroken chapter 3 (4 by this sites reckoning), but a follow-up came to mind. These pieces don't receive as much of a 'critical eye' as Unbroken does, so please just bear with me. Thank you for reading.**


	2. His Voice

**Author's note: I originally intended for Song of Sorrow to be a one-shot, but I felt there was more to tell. ****These pieces don't receive as much of a 'critical eye' as Unbroken does, so please just bear with me. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

His Voice

The door to an upper-class apartment cracks open, Elizabeth wearily stepping inside, her pace no more than a crawl. This was no more her home than anything else, the apartment scarcely changed since she moved in. All the furniture remained as they were found; a stove and fridge if she were inclined to cook, a small, round table with a few chairs to dine at, a couch sitting before a television. Aside from the living room, the apartment consisted of a small, well-stocked bathroom and bedroom, the latter containing a wardrobe, a large, comfortable bed, and finally a finely carved wooden desk, her only personal effects resting atop it.

As an apprentice of Sander Cohen, she had been granted a place to stay near his studio, but she had still taken at least an hour to return after performing Cohen's song to his satisfaction. She'd wandered the upper-class streets near the studio, lost in thought, her feet taking her where they may. Elizabeth idly noted the lights about her dimming as evening approached, an effort that her rational mind told her was to simulate the approach of night, though the notion had little effect on her train of thought.

More than once, she'd heard the concerned voice of some well-to-do citizen of Rapture, asking if she was alright, but each time she trudged on in silence. Concerned murmurs would always follow in her wake as she did.

She lets out a laugh as she looks about her residence, recalling her surprise to find herself back at the apartments, her aching feet insisting she retire for the day. Stepping into the bedroom, Elizabeth gratefully sinks onto her bed, kicking off her heels without much regard for anything, still feeling detached after the onslaught of emotions she'd weathered.

"I… I should make some tea first… or something." Breaking the silence with her muttering, Elizabeth pushes herself from the bed with a weary sigh, making for the stove and the warmth the tea was sure to provide.

A glint of light catches her eye in the dark as she makes to leave her bedroom, Elizabeth stopping dead in her tracks, feeling her breath catch in her throat. The silver bird brooch stares back at her from the desk, partially hidden beneath sheets of music, obscuring the 'You' of the 'You Belong to Me' song. The brooch Booker had picked out for her. Carefully reaching for the brooch with trembling fingers, everything she had relived in the studio coming to the forefront of her thoughts.

"Booker…" Elizabeth feels her knees beginning to buckle, fighting to stay upright as she stumbles back to the bed, collapsing atop the down-stuffed blankets. "My father…" the thoughts come unbidden to her mind, Elizabeth looking up only to see herself in the small mirror by her bed, her eyes glassy and red, "who only wanted to protect me, wanted to take me to Paris… and I killed him."

Tears sprung anew as the grief and self-loathing returned in full, Elizabeth thinking back to the river, and how she truly was his daughter; guilt and hating oneself seemed to be a DeWitt trait. She knew Booker accepted what had to be done, but it didn't make her feel any better when she felt the life leave him beneath her fingers, and did nothing to assuage the guilt and sorrow she felt now.

Curling up on the bed, Elizabeth holding the brooch to her chest, she let's all of the pain and sorrow free, her sobs breaking the silence of her apartment. As she drifts off to sleep, one last thought crosses her conscious mind, "I wish… I could see him one more time. I wish I could say I'm sorry."

She doesn't hear the distinct sound of a Tear opening, her consciousness already in sleep's embrace.

* * *

"What was that?" Booker sits on the bare mattress that was his bed, hunched over with fingers steepled before his face. He must have stood at the window for an hour, staring out at the city as the late afternoon sun began to paint the landscape in shades of gold and scarlet, wondering if whatever had come over him would return. No visions plagued him for once, his thoughts instead focused on the voice.

"I miss you." He rests his face in his hands, the voice nagging at his thoughts, Booker wracking his mind for something, anything to remember who that voice belonged to, of why someone would say such a thing. But nothing clear comes forth, leaving him to sigh in frustration. All he did know is that he's exhausted, Booker lying back on the dirty mattress as he tries to put the strange episode from his mind.

"Why's this happening to me?" Booker wonders as his eyelids droop, the grief he'd felt before still weighing on him. He hears a strange noise as he drifts off to sleep, a noise he thought familiar.

...

...

...?

When Booker opens his eyes again, his vision seems to shimmer and blur around the edges, everything along the borders looking washed out and gray. He finds himself in a strange apartment, the wall before him a swirling pattern of soothing greens and blues, bringing to mind the ocean. A sigh escapes him, "I must be dreaming."

Looking around the room, Booker notices it's as sparse as his own apartment, though quite a bit tidier. Soft carpet muffles the sound of his footsteps as he slowly turns, examining his surroundings, if for no other reason than out of curiosity. A desk draws his gaze, sheets of music littering its surface, reading notes to a song he'd never heard before. Picking one up, Booker raises an eyebrow at one of the verses, "What's a plane?" The words slip out without his knowing.

"Booker…"

The voice. Booker turns slowly as the voice he heard at the window, the voice he'd only before heard in his visions catches his ear. A breath escapes him as he lays eyes on the speaker, a young woman curled up on a bed, tears running down her face. She still wears what he assumed to be her everyday outfit; a white shirt with black collar and cuffs and a knee-length black skirt. He doesn't recognize her, but for some reason he's absolutely sure that he should, an echo of the sorrow he felt before running through him at the sight of her tears.

He finds his feet moving of their own accord, leading him to the side of her bed, Booker carefully taking a seat beside her. Sitting there, the girl's back to him, Booker doesn't know what to do, whatever had guided him to her side abandoning him. Hesitantly, Booker reaches for her, stroking her black hair gently.

"Shhh… it's alright…"

* * *

Elizabeth opens her eyes as the bed shifts, someone sitting behind her. Was it Cohen? Some other intruder? She keeps perfectly still as she ponders what to do, only then noting her vision isn't quite right. Had she been drugged?

"Shhh… it's alright…"

His voice. She'd know that voice anywhere, even if Comstock had taken it as his own. The man sitting beside her, whispering comforting words was Booker. Her Booker, she thought, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

"This has to be a dream. He couldn't be here…"

Even as she thinks it, she feels him stroking her hair, a smile appearing despite the tears. She didn't care. Just for a little while, she could be with him again, if only in her dreams.

She lies there, listening to his voice in silence, enjoying this time more than anything since they parted. He switches from whispering to humming, remaining perfectly still aside from the movement of his hand, the rhythm steady and soothing. A smile touches her lips again as she recognizes the tune, the hymn she'd sung in Columbia as Booker strummed a guitar. Breathing slowly and closing her eyes, Elizabeth joins in, both humming in concert.

The hymn brings to mind everything they'd been through, especially the most painful parts. Elizabeth swallows back her tears as they hymn winds down, wishing that they could play a song that would never end.

Carefully opening her eyes, trapped tears rolling down her face, Elizabeth hesitantly glances at the mirror once more, the smile reappearing as she sees him gazing back at her. The memory of the last time they were together comes once more, dashing the smile, Elizabeth remembering the wish she made before falling asleep.

"Booker… I'm so sorry. Even though we had to… I… I've never forgiven myself…"

* * *

He doesn't know how to respond. She knows him by name, and the tears she sheds as she apologizes for something he doesn't recall… who is she? He felt something for her, more than just empathizing with her grief. Booker looks away, breaking the gaze they shared through the mirror on the wall, so many unanswered questions harrying his thoughts.

"It doesn't matter." The thought dispels some of his worry as he feels the girl tremble beneath his hand.

Several deep breaths later, he brings his gaze back to hers, focusing on the one thing he knew for certain: the sorrow he'd felt in his office belonged to her, sorrow for something she'd done to him somewhere his memory did not exist, and for them being apart.

"It's alright… it doesn't matter anymore. I'm here. Close your eyes… "

She fights back another sob, the smile returning as she does as he asked. Somehow, he knows what to say without knowing why, just as he feels something drawing him away.

* * *

As she closes her eyes, Elizabeth feels Booker's hand withdraw, she wanting to turn to him but something keeping her from doing so. He'd asked her to close her eyes, and so she kept them shut.

Then she feels it; a warm touch, his rough hand caressing her cheek as he murmurs something unintelligible. Her smile widens, and she feels herself slipping back to sleep, his voice guiding her back to unconsciousness.

"Shhh… sleep, baby girl, don't worry anymore. I… I forgive you."

* * *

Booker jerks awake, the glare of the setting sun forcing him to squint and raise a hand defensively. He knew that he'd fallen asleep, but he vaguely remembers dreaming, about what he could not recall.

"At least… I don't feel so down anymore." The ache from the strange experience had nearly faded away, only a touch still lingering. Pushing himself from the bed, Booker stretches before marching towards Anna's room, a smile brightening his mood. At least until he realizes the time.

"Ah… hell, I slept through her feeding time…"

Scrambling for his daughter's bottle, knowing the fuss she'd make over his tardiness, Booker doesn't notice the strands of black hair left behind on his bed, the whole episode already beginning to fade into the vagueness of memory.

* * *

Elizabeth slowly pushes herself up from the bed, sitting quietly as she wipes away the last of her tears. She could still feel Booker's touch, feel his warmth, still hear the sound of his voice in her ears, despite the fact that it was only a dream. It had to be a dream.

Rising from bed, Elizabeth steps quietly out into the living room before looking down at her hand. The bird brooch stared back at her, now warm to the touch, this time evoking fond memories rather than painful ones.

"That's it." Elizabeth speaks to herself, her voice echoing throughout the empty apartment as she pins the brooch to her collar. She felt so much better after his visit, she scarcely could believe it was only in her mind. "Once… once I'm done here, done with Comstock and Rapture, I'm going to go home, to Booker. I'll find my Booker, even if he doesn't remember me. Until then…" She felt a bittersweet smile touching her lips, knowing how much longer it would be until then, "I can be with him in my dreams."

A tear rolls down her cheek, conflicting emotions at war within her. "I have to see him again…" she whispers to herself, "If only to hear his voice."

* * *

**Closing note: If anyone is wondering due to vagaries near the beginning, I'll explain a bit here. As both Booker and Elizabeth fell asleep, Elizabeth subconsciously opened a Tear of sorts, creating a sort of 'in-between' space between worlds as the Tear enveloped them both. As for how the Tear found the right Booker... I'll leave that to your imagination for the time being. I'll leave this story without the 'Complete' option checked for now should I find there's more to tell. I'd appreciate any comments on this, for it doesn't receive nearly the amount of time and work that Unbroken does.**


	3. Their Eyes

**Note: The first three sections take place at different points in time, respectively right after chapter 2, the beginning of Burial at Sea, and finally at the end of Burial at Sea. All I wanted to do with this was to show a bit more of Booker and Elizabeth before Unbroken begins, expand a bit on how Booker has been getting along, and finally how everything begins.**

**Note: Fixed a small error as to when the 3rd section takes place.**

* * *

Their Eyes

"That's it, good…" He coos softly to his daughter, Anna taking the bottle without complaint, Booker heaving a sigh of relief; he'd expected a bawling, screaming child due to his tardiness. Instead he found her still asleep, her adorable face serene and content.

Leaning back in his chair, Booker idly glances out the window, watching as the setting sun gives way to night. He'd have to light the lamps soon, and read to Anna until she fell back to sleep. A tiny yawn around the nub of the bottle draws a small smile, Booker getting a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't be up for much longer.

The rhythmic sounds of Anna sucking on the bottle, quiet as they were, echoes in the small apartment and in Booker's ears, nearly lulling him to sleep as the weariness of the day catches up to him. The bottle rolling out of his fingers shakes him back to consciousness, Booker blinking the sleep from his eyes as he looks down at Anna, the peaceful smile on her tiny face eliciting a chuckle.

Lighting an oil lamp, Booker rises with Anna in his arms and still cooing gently, carefully working his way back to her crib as she yawns into his shoulder. With each step, he feels something nagging at his thoughts, the strangeness of the day and how quickly the events were fading in his memory worrying him.

Laying Anna down in the crib, her contented gurgling drawing another smile from her father, Booker turns to leave, to get her book when something catches his eye; Anna's deep blue eyes staring back at him, catching the light from the other room, something about them stopping him dead in his tracks.

A vision jars his thoughts, this time a vision of the girl, she staring back at him while holding his hand. As always, he's left gasping for air, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to shake the confusion the visions brought without fail.

"Wait…" Opening his eyes slowly, Booker reaches for the bedroom's oil lamp, "Her eyes… how?" The visions were almost always vague, occasionally having a touch of clarity. This time… the girl stared back at him with eyes like the deep blue ocean, eyes just like Anna's.

His fingers fumbling with the lamp, Booker shakes the vision from his thoughts as he finally manages to set it alight, sighing and taking a deep breath. With light filling the room, Booker turns to face his daughter slowly, visions returning to hammer his mind as he goes. It's the same vision, but as he turns the girl brings his hand to her throat, the last image disappearing as he lays eyes on Anna.

She still stares back at him, her blue eyes now shining in the lamp light. But Anna isn't the only one he sees. A ghostly figure of the girl kneels in the corner behind the crib, a figure of blue and white with only her face clearly visible, both she and Anna peering at him with those blue eyes. The image disappears in a heartbeat only to reform, this time taking his breath away. It's the same face, but the eyes look haunted, framed by flowing black hair.

Pain lances through his skull, the room spinning as Booker drops to his knees, the image fading as he screws his eyes shut against the agony. The visions, all of the visions as far as he could tell, find his thoughts and tear at his mind, Booker clutching his skull as he fights the urge to scream. He focuses his thoughts on Anna, on his daughter resting in front of him to resist the pain, but once again he sees the girl. The sensation from earlier returns, the sorrow at the window and the dream he couldn't quite recall, and Booker sees both Anna and the girl in his mind's eye.

The pain slowly recedes from his mind, taking the visions with it, Booker cautiously opening his eyes to find the room still in one piece, Anna squinting at him from the crib. "Dammit, keep it together, Booker…" He rubs his eyes, trying to forget the strange sensation first at the window, then again as he woke.

Something warm and wet touches his upper lip, Booker bringing a finger to it and finding the digit coming away bloody, "Ah hell, what's going on?" Wiping the blood away, Booker pulls himself up to the crib, still kneeling as he looks Anna over, resting his arms on the edge. No ghostly image of a girl appears on the other side, only his daughter staring back at him. Despite the apprehension he felt, Booker couldn't help but smile as she reaches for his hand, taking hold of one of his fingers.

"Something's different…" The thought surprises Booker. Not with Anna, with him. Somehow, he's certain that something feels missing, something or someone. Booker turns his thoughts to his departed wife, the wife he still mourned, the mother Anna would never know, but somehow he knew that wasn't it. He felt lonely, the realization surprising him yet again.

A sniffle shakes him from his thoughts, the room quickly filling with the cries of his daughter, Anna sobbing in earnest. "It's… it's alright." Picking Anna up again, he hugs her as tightly as he dares, wracking his mind for some way to calm her.

A tune comes to him, the lyrics to a song he'd neither heard nor understood how he knew them come unbidden, Booker finding himself humming along as they play in his mind. His body vibrates with the notes, Anna's sobs slowly quieting as he hums, his daughter finally falling asleep against his shoulder as the song comes to a close.

He whispers the final words of the song, kissing Anna on the forehead first, "Just remember… till you're home again… you belong to me…" Laying his daughter down on the blanket, Booker rests his arm on the wooden side rails, the other hanging in the crib, Anna still holding onto his finger. "I'm here." A smile appears, despite the pain he'd felt, "Good night, Anna, I love you. And I'll never let anyone hurt you, ever."

As he lays his head down in his arms, trailing off to sleep, Booker mumbles words that quickly disappear into memory, much like the events of the day, "Ever again."

* * *

Elizabeth stands before the door of DeWitt Investigations, trying her best to prepare herself for this moment. She'd rehearsed everything in her mind and before a mirror countless times this past week, having plenty of time once she left Cohen's 'apprenticeship', but her hands still shake. She lifts the unlit cigarette to her lips for the third time before remembering she hadn't brought a light.

"Filthy habit, anyway…" The cigarette was yet another part she'd rehearsed, practicing every bit of the encounter until she was comfortable with the role she had to play. She heaves a sigh as her hand falls to her side, twirling the cigarette between her fingers instead. Smoking had helped her blend in with Rapture's society, and while she admits it can help with nerves, she remembers all too well seeing one Booker hacking and wheezing after a lifetime of chain smoking. At least her Booker hadn't smoked much around her.

"My Booker…" She still hadn't found him. When she wasn't performing as Cohen's apprentice or rehearsing this moment, she'd searched the doors for him. Each time she thought she'd found him, she'd notice something wasn't quite right and backed away.

How dearly she wishes that her father was behind this door, and not the man she had come to Rapture to find. She'd promised herself she'd find him, wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and apologize, this time to the real Booker and not just a dream. She closes her eyes, trying to picture Booker, the look on his face as she stands before him, but the image doesn't come to mind.

She does indeed see Booker, seated at his desk with Anna on his lap. Her younger self… no, Anna, is laughing as her father bounces her on his knee, and Elizabeth feels a bittersweet smile settling on her lips; she'd wanted Booker to be happy with Anna, but she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Anna had her father, while she had no one. Sure, the Luteces would keep her company at times, but they just couldn't measure up.

Then she catches the look on Booker's face, biting her lip to stifle a cry; though he's smiling as he plays with Anna, his eyes look tired, unfocused, as if something haunted him. He winces from some unseen pain, and Elizabeth can hear him beginning to hum as he bundles up Anna in his arms. She can't hear the tune well enough to make it out, but there's something familiar about it, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

And then she realizes what she's done: she's peering through a door, a door she hadn't realized she had opened. Backing away, she closes the door as slowly as she can manage, watching this Booker until the door finally closes shut.

She heaves a heavy sigh, trying to compose herself and put that Booker from her thoughts, but only succeeding at one of them. The pain and loneliness she saw in his green eyes, she knew those feelings all too well. But what could be haunting this Booker?

Shaking her head, Elizabeth raises her hand to pound on the door, the glass shaking beneath her fist. She thinks back to the dream, the comfort she drew from it and the desire she'd fulfill once done here.

"I'm going home. I'll help this Booker, every Booker I come across until I'm home. Until then…" She pushes the door open as coughing comes from beyond, gritting her teeth at the sound of the voice. Stepping inside, she begins the act she'd prepared for this moment.

"We're closed!"

Her gaze locks on the blue eyes of her target, "You don't look the sort who can afford to turn down legitimate work."

* * *

October 1, 1894

Booker leans against his desk, a smile on his face as he watches Anna play. They'd just come from the park, a favorite of hers, and he'd bought some toys for her on the way home. In reality, they were no more than a pail filled with lettered blocks and a particularly bouncy ball, but the giggles that sound as she plays with them tell another story.

Ms. Pearl had stopped by, the giggling rousing the elderly woman from her routine, the sight of Anna having so much fun brightening her day. She'd disappeared after promising to knit her a new blanket, much to his dismay.

He let loose a sigh, the past few weeks weighing heavily on him. The visions had been coming more frequently, and the sense of loneliness and something missing still held him firm, ever since that strange day four weeks ago. Even though he didn't have the cash, Booker was seriously considering seeing a doctor, so bad they had become. Glancing at the tear-off calendar on his desk, Booker groans, "One more week, and it'll be a year exactly. What are these visions?"

Turning his thoughts from his troubles and weathering the occasional vision, Booker goes about the rest of his day, picking up after Anna and taking care of her needs as best he can. Finally, as evening draws near, Booker lays his tuckered out little girl to bed, covering her with the old blanket she's so fond of.

Closing the door behind him, Booker turns to his own bed, hoping a good night's rest will finally dispel some of the lingering loneliness he just couldn't shake. Intent on collapsing atop the mattress, Booker doesn't notice his knees starting to give out until he begins to fall, just short of his bed. He barely manages to catch himself on the edge of the bedframe, pushing off and trying to rise only to falter again, landing face first on the mattress. Gritting his teeth, Booker raises his head, fighting to at least climb in bed.

"Oh no." He sees a pair of eyes in the darkness, the same eyes as Anna's and the girl's. More of the face comes into view, no more than her eyebrows and cheekbones, blood dripping from some unseen wound. A smile appears briefly, her cheeks pulling back slightly, and he feels rather than hears the last thing she wants to say, but can't.

He finds himself gasping for air, clutching at his heart as an ache in his chest pounds away, fighting to crawl atop his bed. Pulling himself across the old mattress, Booker rolls over and covers his eyes, barely noticing wetness beneath his fingers as he wishes for sleep. He doesn't care anymore if sleep will ease anything; he just wants relief from this pain. He mouths the word he'd felt, over and over until he finally finds his voice.

"Goodbye…"

* * *

Sleep does not bring relief, but instead a nightmare, Booker tossing and turning as he's forced to experience it. Unbeknownst to him, two pairs of eyes watch him from beyond the veil.

"How is this even possible? He sensed her death, when he doesn't even remember her?" Rosalind turns to her brother, he still watching through the Tear.

"But so it is. I never dared hope, but this Booker seems to have a… a connection to Elizabeth, even after the timelines were reset." He strokes his chin thoughtfully, pondering this turn of events, "Remember when we first came to watch this Booker? His mind was desperately trying to remember something it could not, so much so his nose started to bleed. It looked almost exactly as when one enters a reality where another self had died."

"Maybe so, but that is only going to make him suffer. She's gone, and there's nothing he can do about it." Rosalind quips, turning to step away from the Tear, "Shame, really, he's doing so well. No alcohol, no gambling…" She stops, glancing over her shoulder at Robert, "This could destroy him."

"No." She turns back to him, surprise on her face as he stares back at her, "He can't do anything on his own. But with some help…"

"No, absolutely not." She crosses her arms, "Last time we stepped in, we went through a hundred iterations of the same story. I don't want to make another hundred attempts."

"There won't be. There'll only be one." Robert stares back at his sister, "We can harness what's left of the collapsed superposition… the last of Elizabeth's power. It's only going to last a short time."

"You are right about one thing, though." He turns back to the Tear, "If left alone, this can and probably will destroy him. He felt her death the moment it happened, as we perceive it. His mind is trying to remember her on its own. That connection could be all he needs to find her, if he could move through the Tears she left behind. Come now, sister, once more unto the breach, shall we?"

"Now listen, brother, this is becoming unhealthy-"

"Rosalind." He gives her a sideways glance, his voice deathly quiet, "I'll do this on my own if I have to. Our invention tore that family apart, and while they've been reunited, I still feel responsible for her." A moment later, he nods at Booker, still in the grip of nightmare, "And for them."

"One Booker lost his mind because his Anna was killed by the last Comstock. I won't allow Elizabeth to die if I can help it, and I won't watch another Booker lose his sanity as well because he had to watch her die."

Silence. The twins stare at each other, the conviction in Robert's voice startling Rosalind.

Finally, she heaves an exasperated sigh, stepping closer to her brother and putting a hand on his shoulder, "Do you think… do you think it's possible this is…?"

"I believe so," Robert turns his head slightly, looking upon Booker once more, "and I shall find out."

Rosalind nods quietly, turning away from the Tear, "Fine, but you'll have to guide him on your own. We'll have to design a device of some sort to channel the remaining energy, and perhaps to protect his mind from the Tears. Let's get to work."

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**Closing note: Hi everyone, this is (WAS) the final chapter of Song of Sorrow, there's not much else to do as the chapter touched on the beginning of Burial at Sea, and ended just before Unbroken. I hope you enjoyed it. As I mentioned above, I wanted to show more of how Booker and Elizabeth felt as they approached the beginning of Burial at Sea and Unbroken. And as for the vagaries near the end, it'll be explained in the next chapter of Unbroken. As I've said before, this story doesn't get as much of a critical eye as Unbroken does, so comments would be appreciated.**

**Edit 6/9/15: So, there's an epilogue now, taking place between BaS Episodes 1 and 2. As such, this isn't the final chapter anymore, though chronologically the last bit is the closest to Unbroken's beginning.**


	4. Epilogue: Her Guilt

**Foreword: Surprise! I did mention that I might be writing another chapter for Song of Sorrow in my profile, but it only really took shape a couple weeks ago. Now, this one's technically set in Chapter 3, between Burial at Sea Episodes 1 and 2, if the title hadn't given it away. Also, I'll be cleaning up the previous chapters shortly.**

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?, Sea of Doors

"No… I'm sorry!"

Elizabeth wakes with a shout and bolts upright, scrambling to get away from the group of eerily similar little girls she'd seen and pressing her back against a hard, curved wall. It takes the panicked young woman a moment to realize that the children calling to her were only a nightmare, but as she breathes a sigh of relief, Elizabeth finds she doesn't remember how she came to be lying on this rough stone floor.

Then it all comes back to her in a rush; Anna, Rapture, Cohen, Comstock… then Sally and the Big Daddy. Elizabeth touches her right hand to her chest where a piece of rebar had impaled her, after the hulking monstrosity had thrown her through a wall. She remembers waking up in the Sea of Doors a moment later, alive and well with the ensemble she'd taken in Rapture as pristine as the day she'd first put it on. Even her hair is the same, Elizabeth running her fingers through the long, dyed-black tresses as she gathers her wits about her.

"I… it was dark out… and I was so, so tired…" Mumbling to herself, Elizabeth rubs her eyes only to find tears she hadn't realized she'd shed dampening her cheeks, "I wanted to get away from any reminder of Rapture, the ocean… so I came to this sort of lighthouse…"

While she still resides in the Sea of Doors, Elizabeth's sitting in a room about halfway up a different sort of lighthouse; she'd seen architecture like this in books she'd perused in Columbia and Rapture, this sort of design appearing in books about Arabia and the Ottoman Empire. The soft, sandstone-looking structure was an accidental find on her part before going to Rapture, but Elizabeth doesn't care now one way or the other; she wanted a reprieve from the horrors that she's suffered through, and this place would do as well as retreating through one of the doors. As such, the room she sits in is completely barren, with only thin vertical slits for windows and a spiraling staircase following the curvature of the room.

"When I arrived, I…" Now Elizabeth grits her teeth and holds a hand to her forehead, "I looked for Booker… but… I couldn't find him…" Reclining so she's resting against the cool but slightly irregular sandstone wall, Elizabeth shakes her head slowly, her long black hair providing a bit of padding against the rough surface, "No… it's worse than that. I kept seeing… seeing her."

Elizabeth had opened Tear after Tear in her search for Booker, but like before all she kept finding were the wrong Bookers; they were similar enough, but they weren't _her_ Booker. So she kept searching, opening more Tears in the confines of this dark, empty lighthouse. "But the Tears began to… to change…" A grimace pulls at Elizabeth's features; more and more, her thoughts turned to the Little Sister Sally, and the Tears seemed to reflect that. The doors showed her Sally, Elizabeth gasping in surprise as the Little Sister appeared before her eyes; she was being pulled from the vent by a group of men, crying and shouting. Elizabeth had closed the Tear almost immediately, but it was far from the last.

More and more of the doors opened to reveal Sally, and shortly Elizabeth was seeing the Little Sister as often as she did Bookers and Annas. "Why? There's nothing I could… it's not my fault!" Pulling her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms on them, Elizabeth curls up and rests her forehead against her arms as her plaintive voice echoes in the empty room. It'd become too much for her then, despite her claiming the Little Sister wasn't her responsibility, and she'd curled up against the wall and cried herself to sleep as she whispered 'I'm sorry' over and over.

"It's not my fault… it's not my fault… I… I did what needed to be done. I accomplished my goal… Comstock paid for what he did… so why do I feel so awful?!" Pushing herself from the floor as she shouts at no one in particular, Elizabeth paces around the dark room with her arms crossed. Her heels clack on the sandstone floor as she goes, and Elizabeth grimaces as she shies away from the staircase leading down, "I should be happy! I can go anywhere I want now, I can go look for Booker, go home… I can…" Her voice falters as tears well up in her eyes; she'd witnessed the fate waiting for the Little Sister she'd used to exact her revenge, and she can't deny it anymore. She'd abandoned Sally once she was done with her, used her like a tool; Elizabeth realizes she is the only one to blame for Sally's fate.

"Used… oh my God…" The clacking of her heels falls silent as she comes to an abrupt stop, Elizabeth finally realizing why she can't simply forget about Sally; she'd used the little girl exactly as if she were a tool, as if she were no more important than a wrench or crowbar. She'd behaved exactly like the man she despises and sought to punish, leaving Sally to a terrible end at the hands of the Splicers. Just like Comstock. Fresh tears well up and stream down her cheeks as Elizabeth realizes the depths of what she's done, what she's become, and she staggers over to the curved wall near the staircase for support.

"No… I can't… I can't be like _him!_" Rough stone scuffs up her hands as she strikes the wall and falls to her knees, her palms getting nicked up as they slide down the rough surface. "There's… there's nothing I can do for her! Her Big Daddy _killed_ me! And… and where was he, huh? Where was Sally's protector when she needed him?!"

A glint of silver catches her tear filled eyes, a sliver of moonlight finding its way into the dark lighthouse and reflecting off the silver thimble on her right pinkie. And as Elizabeth stares at her finger, severed long ago and the reason she can see all the doors in the first place, an idea comes to her grief stricken mind.

"Booker… he'll understand… he'll know exactly what to do…" Booker had dealt with more guilt than anyone else Elizabeth knew, and he always knew what needed to be done. In the short time they were together, at least. When she was still a naïve, sheltered girl in a terrible, twisted city, when she thought him a monster and even when she ran from him, Booker was always there for her in some manner or the other and did what was needed for their survival. He may not have had all the answers and even lied to her once, but he knew enough. "Even at the end, Booker knew what had to be done… and he accepted it, without a moment's hesitation or the slightest struggle…"

The thought of the river alone breaks her heart all over again, and Elizabeth collapses on the rough sandstone floor. Sobbing openly, Elizabeth remembers that night in her room, when she dreamed of Booker coming to her bedside and comforting her; it's a memory that she cherishes more than almost any other, even though it was only a dream.

"It must… run in… the family…" Whispering to herself between sobs, Elizabeth touches her fingers to her brooch, only to find it isn't there. "No, where… where is it…? Where is it?!" Though the tears still stream down her face and she still sobs, panic takes hold and spurs her to action; she needs to find her bird brooch, she has to! "It's the only… only present Booker ever… ever gave to me…"

Panic's thick in her voice as Elizabeth searches the floor for her brooch, but it's all for naught; even in the dark, the silver brooch would stand out against the yellow-orange sandstone, and Elizabeth's left standing in the middle of the room empty-handed.

"It must still be in Rapture…" The thought of returning to the underwater metropolis sends a shiver down her spine, "Maybe I can ask the Luteces…"

Shaking her head, Elizabeth dries her eyes on her white and black sleeve and pushes aside all thoughts of the brooch, the river, Rapture and Sally from her mind, instead focusing solely on her father. "Here goes… " The darkness of the lighthouse disappears with a wave of her hand, replaced by the shimmering light of a Tear and what lies beyond; the New York apartment of Booker DeWitt, the man himself and his baby girl Anna sitting at his desk. "This… is that…?" Peering closely, Elizabeth watches this Booker and Anna for a moment before closing the Tear; this isn't her Booker, a couple details here and there out of place.

And so it goes, Elizabeth opening Tear after Tear, searching the doors for the man she'd escaped Columbia with. But after the fifth booker she'd looked upon, the next Tear is anything but the same; Elizabeth's eyes go wide in horror as she sees the Little Sister appear before her eyes again. Sally's being held down on a table by a group of men, struggling as another approaches. "Atlas…" Elizabeth has to look away, shuddering as Sally's screams fill the lighthouse, and she slams the Tear shut the moment she can bring her hands up to do so. But still, the sound of Sally's scream still echoes in her ears.

"Please… I'm sorry, just let me be…" Sinking to her knees, Elizabeth manages to keep the tears from falling as she opens another Tear. And a relieved sigh escapes her when she sees a tired, haggard looking Booker walking down a street, a Pinkerton badge pinned to his shirt. "Not my Booker… definitely not."

But the visions of Sally do not abate, and soon Elizabeth's staring numbly through a Tear to Rapture once more. Sally's sitting in a closet somewhere, Atlas' men outside the door and keeping her prisoner. The Little Sister is singing some sort of song with her tiny, distorted voice, and it takes Elizabeth a moment to focus on and recognize it; a normally lovely French song she'd heard in Rapture on a few occasions, "La Vie en Rose…" Elizabeth finds herself humming along to Sally's song as she listens, the tune and lyrics lingering in her mind.

A touch of a smile tugs at Elizabeth's lips, but the song is abruptly cut short, the closet door swinging open and Atlas' Splicers approaching the little girl. One of them sneers at the Little Sister, "C'mere, girlie; no fair hogging all that tasty ADAM!"

"No!" Elizabeth shouts as she watches the Splicers haul Sally away; all she can do in the Sea of Doors is peer through the Tears. Even she has to travel to the lighthouses to enter the various worlds, though she normally needn't a boat like the Lutece twins do.

"I can't… I can't go home…" Still on her knees in the middle of the lighthouse, Elizabeth closes the Tear with a listless wave of her hand, "I have to save her… I can't let her die…" And I can't be like Comstock, she adds silently.

Rising slowly, Elizabeth trudges down the spiraling sandstone staircase and out the wooden doors of the lighthouse. She peers through the doors as she goes, watching what will be should she return to that terrifyingly insane city: Elizabeth sees herself lose her powers, her finger returning to normal; she sees herself fail time and again should she try to save Sally without returning to Rapture; and she sees the fate awaiting her even should she succeed. The sky is rife with dark, menacing clouds that block the sun as she realizes what she must do, and the ocean is gray and filled with choppy waves, the Sea of Doors seemingly in turmoil just as she is, "I suppose this place is affected by me…"

"It would appear so. What is it that you plan to do?"

"I'm going to save Sally, Lutece." Turning to Robert Lutece, Elizabeth heaves a quiet sigh; she wouldn't call the twins her friends, more like acquaintances who share her particular circumstances and occasionally her allies.

"But returning to that city will cause you to collapse." Rosalind Lutece chimes in, her words and voice very calm, even, and as always disinterested.

"The doors will be closed to you; there will be no way for you to escape Rapture. " Robert, the male Lutece managing a touch of concern in his voice.

"You will forget. You will be mortal again, without any powers to speak of. And there will be no second chances; no alternate selves to try again, no waking in this place between worlds again." Rosalind nods, and Elizabeth can only wonder at the twins' sudden arrival and attempts to dissuade her.

"I know, and I'm still going. I… I have to. I've already looked through the doors, seen what will happen… to me, to Sally…"

"What will happen," Rosalind interrupts, surprising Elizabeth, "is that you will die, most assuredly. You may save the girl, but your life for hers hardly sounds agreeable."

"Indeed. Hardly an improvement," Robert takes a step closer, "you don't have to do this. You desire to be reunited with your father; we shall assist you in finding him. There's no reason for you to do this."

"Yes there is!" Glaring as she snaps at the Luteces, Elizabeth turns away and heaves a deep, exasperated sigh, "I have a debt I owe the girl. I must repay it, that's all there is to it." Neither of the Luteces have a retort, but Elizabeth can feel their gaze on her back. "And it isn't just Sally's life… let me show you something… incredible."

Elizabeth waves her hand and a Tear opens into the side of the lighthouse. But even as she makes to show to the Luteces what will happen, not just to herself and Sally but to so many others, Elizabeth finds the tune the Little Sister had sung coming back to her. The sound of her voice slowly fills the air around the Tear as Elizabeth begins to hum, and she only stops as she turns back to the Luteces, "I've _seen_ what can happen… let me show you."

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**Author's Note: Now, I know I said Chapter 3 was the end as it came up to Unbroken's beginning, but I kept feeling I should touch on Elizabeth's decision to return to Rapture despite the consequences. As such, this is more of an epilogue, and is more in line with the chapter lengths of the previous chapters than with my more recent works. There's also a few other reasons I wrote this one, but that'll be revealed later.**

**For those who are first reading this story, the first three chapters were written and posted as I was doing the same with Unbroken, but this chapter came a hell of a lot later. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reading.**


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